


Three Weeks

by iamwrite



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Related, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Prostitution, Queer as Folk References, i have questions, not gonna lie the more i write this the more i love anthony, was his osso bucco that good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2020-06-29 17:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamwrite/pseuds/iamwrite
Summary: Leaving home was the easy part. Finding somewhere to go was a little more difficult.~aka the story of the man that Klaus stays with for three weeks who “made the most amazing osso buco though” that he references to Five in Episode 2 (“Run Boy Run”)





	1. Chapter 1

Klaus rolled over onto his side, the dull throbbing that was radiating from the base of his skull slowly snaking its way up to wrap around his temples. These used to be the moments where he would panic; the bright light of day would suddenly jolt him into reality, prompting a frantic search for any indicators as to where he had ended up the night before, as well as a quick obligatory check that all his fingers and toes and kidneys were still in place. 

Now, Klaus would be surprised if he recognized any room or bed that wasn’t housed in a shelter. Not that he went to those all that often either. The employees there were woefully underprepared for somebody like Klaus. They didn’t know him, and there was no way they could ever begin to. The way he had been raised and the corpses he housed were unique to a broken group of seven. Sure the people were always nice to him there, but he would more than happily trade the constant barrage of “get sober, stay sober, live cleaner” for stranger’s sheets any day. And it’s not like the men whose beds he jumped from understood much more, but they never tried to pretend like they did. They just took him for what he was: a bony, tatted up junkie who was willing to score in anyway he could. 

There was a part of that that comforted Klaus: nobody knew who he was and nobody cared. His whole childhood he was trapped and observed like a bug under a looking glass, every move magnified as he burnt out from the concentrated heat. Posture stiffened, words minced… people lost. These men didn't want to know his problems or ask about his family or try to find out why he was staring into the distance at nothing. Their deals and wants were simple and straightforward. 

It was mornings like these where he missed Mom’s home cooked meals that were always served up with a friendly smile and a glass of orange juice. When the pulsing of his temples was so loud it felt like his head might explode, flashes of Diego carving letters into the breakfast table, Ben’s face buried in a novel behind his eggs, Luther leaning over to pick bacon off of Alison’s plate, and Vanya and Five discussing the tribulations of Russian poetry would all slither their way to the forefront of his watered down brain. The taste of nostalgia and maple syrup would invade his senses before it washed away like a dam flooding. 

There was no going back. This particular brand of nostalgia was trapped behind the glass door of the past, able to be viewed but separated from any real interaction with it. There was no more merry murderers gang. Everyone was gone. 

Klaus had been one of the last of them to leave. Not because he had wanted to stay in that big grandiose house that never truly felt like a home, but rather because he had no where else to go. It wasn’t until Vanya finally left and Klaus was just bumbling around the empty halls every night, usually drunk and with Ben whispering in his ears, that he threw some clothes in a knapsack and took off despite the lack of a destination. 

He wasn’t surprised when no one came looking for him. It’s not like any of them had been going to great lengths to stay in contact when they left. And Klaus sure as hell wasn't going to put in the effort if no one else seemed interested. The combination of his growing daily non-lucid state and the mutual indifference of his siblings helped to widen the gap between Klaus and the rest of the Hargreeves family. 

Klaus’s stroll down memory lane was cut short as a particularly nasty wave of nausea rolled through his stomach and up his throat. His eyes searched in the dim morning light for somewhere to puke that wasn’t simply directly onto the carpet. His fingers grazed a small metal trash can right in the nick of time, the only mess coming from a little splash back out of the side of the bin. 

The sudden and frantic movement caused the covers of the thin blanket he had been sleeping under to shift, revealing that he was in fact completely naked. Klaus tried to think back to the night before: what he might have done, or more likely who. The apartment itself gave no clues. The walls were fairly barren, like most of the rooms that he happened to wake up in, and the mattress looked like it had been unceremoniously dumped in the center of the room. 

He didn’t particularly enjoy bed hopping, but it was hard to keep down a steady job that yielded enough to pay his own rent when most of the time he either had ghosts screaming at him or a burning itch crawling beneath his skin. Not even McDonald’s would hire a person that unstable. 

Klaus scanned the room until he spotted his oversized grey tank top (although it was not quite as oversized when he had originally bought it, the continued loss of appetite and funneling of cash toward drugs rather than food had thinned him out even further), leather lace up pants, and patchwork coat all crumpled in a pile in the corner of the room. His head spun as he sat up and attempted to gingerly lift the remaining blanket off of himself. He had to pause for a moment to steady his legs against the hardwood floor before padding softly toward his belongings. 

His underwear seemed to have disappeared, so he shrugged and shamelessly shimmied his way into the pants commando, flexing his shoulders and craning his neck up to crack his back. The tank top parachuted over his head, sliding loosely onto his torso and bagging around his hips. 

Out of instinct, the first thing he did was check the pockets to ensure that his stash and procurements had remained safe and sound throughout the night. Not every person he slept with would steal from him, but more often than not when people pay for sex, they try to profit in more ways than one, and it didn’t take a genius to tell from the way that Klaus’s eyes glazed over and hands twitched that he probably couldn’t go far without needing a hit and would likely carry some on him. 

A quick search revealed that this man had, in fact, swiped from Klaus’s coat. If the sex was good enough or he was still high upon waking, sometimes Klaus would let something like this go. But honestly, the man hadn’t paid him very well, he was low on cash, the raging headache that swam behind his temples had yet to relent, and he had a foggy notion that the sex had been rather mediocre, so Klaus was nowhere close to being in a mood to walk away half-fucked and robbed. He gritted his teeth, shrugging the coat over his skinny shoulders (the open studio apartment was drafty and he had begun to shiver slightly without it) and stalked back across the room to the sleeping figure inhabiting the barren mattress. 

“Hey fuckface,” Klaus said irritated, giving a swift kick to the side of the bed. The man hardly stirred so he wound up and kicked the mattress again with enough force that it slid a little across the floor. 

“Didn’t I already pay you?” the man grumbled angrily against his pillow, still not looking up. 

“Barely,” Klaus said rolling his eyes, “and if you wanna steal from someone, try to make it subtle next time. Pop one or two and you probably would’ve gotten off scot free, but even the most mundane of junkies notice when a bag full of pills go missing. And I have _never _in my sad sorry life been mundane, dipshit.”__

_____ _

_____ _

Klaus gripped the edge of the single sheet that donned the bed and yanked, thinking that sweeping it off would be both incredibly dramatic and equally effective in rousing the thieving bastard. He was correct that the move was both dramatic and effective. However, his hazy memory from the night before seemed to have been obscuring the detail that the man sleeping beneath said sheet was about 6’1” at least and built like a brick wall. The gesture had shocked the giant awake in an objectively less than pleasant way, demonstrated by the fire that quickly lit in his eyes. He leapt from the mattress and grabbed the sides of Klaus’s coat, slamming his frail body against the nearest wall. 

“If I’d known you were such a fucking piece of work I would’ve left your sorry ass on the side of the road yesterday, or kicked you out last night after I was done with you. But I was being generous and now you want to push it?” 

Klaus’s shoulders were on fire from the pressure of being smashed against the wall. He looked up innocently and shook his head at the man, hoping the act would relinquish his grip. After a bout of intense eye contact, the man lowered Klaus until his feet made contact with the ground. The second he felt the earth beneath his feet, Klaus pushed the man off balance and rounded his fist up, clocking him square in the jaw. 

Considering his frail stature, Klaus managed a pretty hefty blow, causing the man to yelp in pain. Rather than shut the man down however, the action had riled him up even further. Klaus attempted to dodge the retaliation, but his original success seemed to have relied heavily on having caught the man off guard. His training proved too rusty to evade the man’s quick hands when they were on an even playing field. He grabbed Klaus again and returned the favor with a clean shot to his left eye. He then roughly threw Klaus across the floor in the direction of the door, tossing a pair of dirty Converse in his direction. Klaus’s face was turned down with his arms braced against the ground as he struggled to stand, feeling the shoes hit him hard in the back, adding an extra site of pain to where his shoulder blades ached. 

“Now get the fuck out of here before my good will runs out,” the man spat. Klaus heard the springs of the mattress squeak as the man crawled back into bed, but didn’t dare look in his direction. He felt around for his shoes, holding them tight against his chest as he maneuvered his other hand to grab the doorknob and hoist himself up. He feebly twisted it, practically tumbling out of the apartment and into the hallway. He fell back against the door with his full weight, shutting it securely behind him. 

Klaus slid down the wall and collapsed onto the carpeted floor, taking a moment to catch his breath. His eye had begun to sting and he winced at the new throbbing that had been mercilessly torn from his head and well diversified throughout his body. 

He let out a sigh that seemed to suck all the air from his lungs as he fished around in his inside coat pocket, finally producing a shiny silver watch from the folds. The man must have already been flying pretty high when he went searching for the drugs, because he hadn’t even noticed his own faux rolex rolling around the inner compartment of the coat. Klaus smiled with a hint of satisfaction. He decided that he should probably get moving before the man realized that he didn’t hold a monopoly on petty theft. Before tossing his bounty back into his pocket, Klaus caught a glance at the time. 

It seemed impossible, but his sigh deepened as he lazily rubbed his hands over his face. 

It was only seven a.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always wanted to know the story of osso bucco man so damnit I decided to write it for myself and anyone else who was interested. please enjoy and let me know if you have any ideas or things you would like to see. 
> 
> I am also writing this at the height of Klaus's homelessness/drug addiction so it might be kind of casual about themes involving drug use and prostitution, as I feel that's kind of how Klaus would be during this time (ie. not really attempting to get clean or necessarily improve/examine his own behavior). 
> 
> This will be a chaptered fic because I love me a good chaptered fic, however I provide no promises as to how often it will be updated, but hopefully I can keep a regular thing going!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i guess this fic is just becoming completely self indulgent because i miss watching queer as folk

“Hey sweetie, you want a refill?” Debbie asked, nudging Klaus’s knee while setting down a plate of buttery waffles and filling his small ceramic mug with fresh coffee. He jumped a little, having fallen asleep leaning against the booth’s window at some point in the last two hours. 

“Um, uh, yeah. But Deb I didn’t order any waffles,” Klaus protested nervously, contradicting the way his stomach growled in response to the smells wafting up from the plate in front of him. As much as he wanted to eat, he literally couldn’t afford it if he wanted to have enough cash to score tonight. 

“I know, but honey you get skinnier every time you walk in here and I can’t stand to see you wither away like this, not when we’ve got plenty of good food back there,” she said with a motherly worry behind her eyes. 

“Deb, I don’t have any mo-“

“Shush, on the house,” she insisted with a wave of her glittery pen, going on as Klaus tried to resume his protest, “and I won’t dare hear another word about it. You know the second you walk in that door you’re one of mine. And I take care of my boys, that’s that. Now, what I _will _be mad about is if you let a perfectly good meal go to waste.”__

__She took her bright red manicured hand and grabbed his chin, squishing the sides of his cheeks slightly, looking him in the eyes with a steely gaze._ _

__“Ok, ok I’ll eat them,” Klaus relented with a faux begrudging tone. Debbie smiled, looking pleased. Her eyes softened again as she ran her fingers gently over the patch of skin on the side of his cheekbone where his fresh shiner, courtesy of earlier that morning, had started to bloom into a bright purple. She sighed with resignation—a regular occurrence when she was around Klaus, having witnessed most all of his miserable states of strung out, bloodied and bruised, glassy eyed, and trashed beyond repair—before finally releasing his face. She turned on her heel, yelling orders to some blond kid behind the counter as she headed back to the kitchen._ _

__Klaus rubbed his face in a lane attempt to wipe the sleep away from his groggy brain. He said a silent prayer to Debbie for her generosity as he dug into what had to be the best waffles in the entire god given world. The notion could’ve easily stemmed from the fact that Klaus hadn’t eaten a decent meal in approximately a week and a half (unless you count half a loaf of bread he stole from a john’s pantry a few days ago and the diner coffee he drank by the gallon)._ _

__It wasn’t until he had the taste of the food in his mouth that he even realized how truly hungry he was. To be fair, it’s hard to remember when you ate last if, more often than not, you’re too high to even remember what day it is. Klaus’s body reacted to that first bite of waffles by forcing his hand to accelerate the pace in which he shoveled the crispy goodness into his mouth, biologically recognizing the starvation for what it was. Debbie appeared with another stack just as he was circling the plate with his fork to sop up the last of the residual syrup._ _

__Klaus grunted in opposition to the gesture, his cheeks round with the last bite of the first stack. Debbie simply placed the plate down, making a “shut your mouth” gesture with the other hand and a final “eh, eh, eh” as she backed away. Klaus just smiled and shook his head as he moved the second plate in front of him, slowing down and trying his best to savor each and every bite._ _

__-_ _

__“This is bullshit, you’re overcharging and you know it,” Klaus argued, making a grab for the small baggie in the dealer’s hand. The dealer swiftly pulled his arm back and out of Klaus’s reach._ _

__“When you corner the market and have customers who don’t have the willpower to say no, you can do that,” the man shrugged. “Look, if you’re not willing to pay, I have other people who will, so either cough it up or keep moving.”_ _

__Klaus had been putting on his best puppy dog eyes, but this guy wasn’t budging. It doubly wasn’t helping that there were a few spirits lingering in the alley that had all started hounding Klaus the moment he accidentally looked in their direction. He was trying to focus on shaking down the dealer, but between the deafening cries for help that reverberated through his head and the fire burning under his skin, he was having a rough time concentrating on any singular entity around him._ _

__Klaus gave a heavy sigh, turning slowly to walk away. He took a few steps toward the street before whipping back around and lunging for the dealer’s hand. The two grappled for a brief moment before the dealer leaned in harder and threw Klaus to the ground with relative ease._ _

__He figured he should register the pain of the hard cement, considering the toll the day had already taken on his body, but apparently he had become too numb to do more than roll his eyes and weakly stand back up. The dealer seemed to be done with him anyway. He was already walking back down the alley in search of another buyer, the encounter having wasted enough of his time._ _

__Small miracles._ _

__Klaus dusted himself off with shaking hands before emerging back onto the main street. Friday nights usually lent themselves to a pretty steady bustle of the bar hopping crowds. The area he tended to frequent was that of the concentrated gay nightlife, making it rather easy to blend into the roaming multitudes of varying extravagant and daring dress._ _

__He pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. The October chill had started to settle in, fighting off the last bit of lingering summer heat. Winter months were always a little bit harder in terms of living arrangements. Avoiding shelters was easy when he didn't have to contend with the elements. He much preferred sleeping on the grass in the park anyway, considering he was never really allowed to go camping as a child. The intense chill that loomed with the coming months made that arrangement a lot less sustainable._ _

__He wandered around for a bit before picking a bar at random and sauntering inside. Not that Klaus had enough money to actually buy a drink, but he was well versed in the art of getting others to do that for him._ _

__The warmth that enveloped him when he walked in the door instinctively caused his muscles to relax. He glided down the lowly lit hallway and examined the walls, collaged with colorful pictures of anything and everything, accompanied by customers’ scribbles that ranged from “sami waz here <3” to full length song lyrics. He always enjoyed the obvious care of the owner’s decorations, mixed with the haphazardness of the free-for-all writings from the patrons, running his fingers along the unevenly raised textures as he went. _ _

__The hallway opened up to a semi large room, dimly lit by a red tint. String lights were strewn about the walls of the main area that vaguely reminded Klaus of his room back at the academy. That sinking want for home, for the stability of a room of his own no matter the torture that comes with it, crept into his chest. His hand fidgeted with the pocket made by the taut skin above his left collarbone as he searched for a distraction, regrettably choosing what felt like the lesser of two evils by making eye contact with the ghost that had been following him since the alley. He made a motion for the ghost to follow him back into the hallway. If he was going to talk to the air, he was at least going to do it in a less crowded place._ _

__He leaned against the collage wall, head back, one foot up, and eyes forward in an attempt to be subtle about what would be perceived by any passerby as a one sided conversation. The ghost materialized in front of him, bringing a flush of unnaturally cold air with him._ _

__“Welcome to the Haus of Klaus, how may I help you today?” he started, putting on an overexaggerated customer service voice and crossing his arms over his chest._ _

__“I need you to do something for me,” the ghost pleaded._ _

__“Don’t they all.”_ _

__“My- my brother, the one over there at the bar, I need him to know what happened.”_ _

__Klaus turned his head back toward the open room, peeking around the corner in the direction the ghost had pointed. He didn’t have to scan for very long to figure out who he was talking about. The resemblance between the man at the bar and the ghost in front of him was unmistakable.They weren’t quite twins, but they were definitely related, both with strong, dark features, a square jawline, and broad shoulders sloping into a slimmer built torso. The only striking difference between them was the contrast of the living man’s deep olive skin to the pallor of the being that floated in front of Klaus._ _

__“Ok… so what _did _happen?” Klaus prompted, pulling his gaze away from his soon-to-be target. The ghost fidgeted nervously with his hands, as if he was suddenly rethinking his plan entirely. Klaus was beginning to get impatient, feeling the impending withdrawal-induced shudders growing closer by the second. He needed a drink and soon, and he wasn’t about to wait for some guy to spill his guts about the dying regrets he obviously regretted a little too much. “Look man, either you’re ready to tell him or you’re not, but I can’t make that fucking decision for you. So unless you wanna disclose what it is that’s so important you had to stalk me from the alley-”___ _

____“I thought you were following me here,” the figure interrupted with a confused look._ _ _ _

____Klaus hadn’t really been paying attention on his little stroll down the strip. Looking back, his feet had definitely been guiding him without his knowledge. The bar that he figured was seemingly chosen at random had actually been a very deliberate choice by shepherding spirit. Unbelievable. He hated when his creeping sobriety unlocked the things settled deep within him and forced them to the surface. It always caused all sorts of weird shit he didn't ask for, like the apparent ability of a spirit to pull him wherever it wanted._ _ _ _

____“You followed me, I followed you, who cares? If your dirty little secret is too dirty for you to come to terms with yet, then I can’t help you,” Klaus said as if he had known he was being led all along, crossing his arms and staring down the ghost. The figure floated in front of him for a few more seconds before promptly disappearing from view. Klaus let out a sigh of relief. He really didn't feel like playing surprise clairvoyant tonight. He entered back into the main room and took no time making a beeline for the bar._ _ _ _

____It was quite a busy night. He scanned the row of red leather bar stools teeming with customers. It just so happened that the only available spot he could find was next to none other than the broad shouldered brother of his spiritual clientele. It wasn’t ideal, but he also couldn’t deny that the man he was sent to medium was more handsome up close than Klaus had thought him to be from a far. Suddenly, he wasn’t minding this mission so much. And he didn’t doubt that it would still be a mission. He knew from experience that if these ghosts weren’t prepared to spill the beans the first time around, they would almost certainly be back once they were wise to the fact that Klaus was willing to help them to some extent. It couldn't hurt to do a little recon in the meantime._ _ _ _

____He slid onto the raised stool, not realizing how badly his feet ached until they were dangling above the ground and free from the pressure of his body weight. He had done a fair amount of walking that day. After leaving the diner he wandered around the park for a few hours, went up and down every aisle of a massive old thrift shop before pinching a nice purple scarf, and then window shopped through the main strip until it got dark enough to stalk the alleys for a fix._ _ _ _

____“Are you ok?” the brother asked Klaus. Well, that didn’t take long._ _ _ _

____“Is that how you start all your conversations?” Klaus joked, leaning in with one elbow rested against the bar. The man smiled shyly._ _ _ _

____“Not necessarily, but when someone has a black eye that’s taking up half of their face, it’s kind of hard not to lead with a question regarding their well being.”_ _ _ _

____Klaus’s jovial demeanor faltered as he reached up to touch the side of his eye, having momentarily forgotten about the injury. He hadn’t caught sight of a mirror lately, but he didn't doubt that the ring surrounding his eye had gotten worse. He quickly brushed the memory of that morning aside, redonning the grin he had been wearing._ _ _ _

____“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the first rule of fight club is that I can’t talk about fight club so,” Klaus said, lifting his hands with a shoulder shrug and a sly smile. The man laughed at the seemingly classic quip, something that Klaus appreciated._ _ _ _

____“Is it against the rules if I ask to buy you a drink?” the man offered._ _ _ _

____“I don’t accept drinks from strangers, so thanks but no thanks,” Klaus said with a dry tone, swiveling his chair to face the opposite direction._ _ _ _

____“Really? Oh. Sorry man, I thought-“ the brother prattled on embarrassed and nervous before Klaus dramatically turned to face him again._ _ _ _

____“Are you kidding? Of course you can buy me a drink. Vodka Sprite,” Klaus spoke rapidly, giving the order to the bartender. The man seemed hesitant before offering another grin and shaking his head._ _ _ _

____“You’re... quite interesting,” the man said. Klaus couldn’t tell if it was meant as a compliment, but he took it as one anyway._ _ _ _

____“Sweetie, you don't know the half of it,” he laughed, leaning down and sipping on the tiny black straws sticking out of the drink that had just been placed in front of him._ _ _ _

____“Well, since you don't seem to like being asked things, I’ll be more direct. Tell me your name.”_ _ _ _

____This guy was clever. And the Vodka Sprite was warmly snaking down Klaus’s chest and efficiently loosening up his resolve, which was not a wholly small feat. When you live on the streets and grow up in a family like the Hargreeves’, the walls you build come in the form of nothing less than stone and go up with instinctive vigor in all situations, whether they warrant blocks of concrete or not._ _ _ _

____But Klaus could feel himself sinking fast. The past few weeks, months, had been hard, and more lonely than usual. And Klaus was tired, so very tired, that he let the dark brown eyes and sugary alcohol chip away at his chest and cause him to lean in to the man’s ear._ _ _ _

____“Klaus,” he said, with no tricks or gimmicks.  
“A unique name for a unique man. I expected no less. Sorry to disappoint with my utter mundaneness. I’m Anthony.”_ _ _ _

____“I’ve dealt with enough crazy to last a lifetime. I could use a little mundane,” Klaus said, abandoning the straws and taking a healthy swig from his glass. “And another one of these,” he called to the bartender, pointing at his near empty cup._ _ _ _

____“You got it Klaus,” the bartender winked._ _ _ _

____“You come here often?” Anthony asked. Klaus laughed._ _ _ _

____It wasn't that he necessarily come here all that often, but rather that he and the bartender had bonded over a bad breakup (on the bartenders end), a bottle of pills, a couple of joints, and a warm bed one night after Klaus hung around past last call. That night had been an unnervingly chilly one and he was dreading going back out to the park. He and the bartender, Chris, had struck up a conversation and Chris had been kind enough to let Klaus hang around and chat while he cleaned up. One thing led to another and Klaus ended up not having to spend the night in the park. It was very clearly a rebound for Chris, not that Klaus minded. They both knew what it was: a fun night to fight off the cold and lonely. It happened once or twice more. Chris knew that Klaus struggled, but Klaus would never accept money from Chris. Their thing was not like the things he did for money. It was something Klaus did because he wanted to, not because he had to. The two had oddly maintained something akin to friendship. And Chris was attractive, no doubt. But if Klaus was being honest, the guy had nothing on Anthony._ _ _ _

____“Friends with Chris,” Klaus gestured toward Chris behind the bar, now at the other end of the long stretch of counter._ _ _ _

____“Ah,” Anthony said taking a long sip of his drink, “so you’ve fucked him.”_ _ _ _

____“Excuse me?” Klaus raise his voice in mock offense. Not that Klaus was ashamed of his sexual history, and there was probably a lot of it he should be a little repentant about, but he couldn’t necessarily get a read on Anthony yet and didn't know if having fucked the bartender would play well or not. “Can’t two gay men be just friends?” he countered._ _ _ _

____“Hey Chris!” Anthony hollered as Chris approached. “Have you and Klaus fucked?”_ _ _ _

____“Once or twice, why?” Chris said in the cavalierest of ways, grabbing the now empty beer glass that sat on the bar, putting it under the tap to fill before placing it readily back in Anthony’s hand. Klaus hadn’t expected Anthony to be so bold. He was clearly underestimating this guy. Klaus buried his head in his arms._ _ _ _

____“No reason,” Anthony said obviously smug, “thanks.”_ _ _ _

____Klaus peaked out from behind his arms to see Anthony sipping his beer with a smile._ _ _ _

____“You’re less mundane than you give yourself credit for.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m glad you think so. I was afraid I was starting to bore you.”_ _ _ _

____“Nobody who is buying me drinks is ever a bore,” Klaus joked._ _ _ _

____“Wow, good to know I’m just a cash cow to you.”_ _ _ _

____“I mean I wouldn't exactly say cow…”_ _ _ _

____“Ouch! You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself.”_ _ _ _

____“It is my speciality.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh yeah?” Anthony said leaning in and whispering low and hot in Klaus’s ear, “Any other specialities I should know about?”_ _ _ _

____A blush actually began to creep up into Klaus's cheeks. Now he was sure of it, this man was magic. And what more, he was magic of the best kind: the normal kind. The non-academy kind. The heart flutters and hot cheeks kind. The lay down your weapons kind. The kind Klaus hadn’t seen up close in a long, long time._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really enjoyed writing this!! please comment and tell me what you think! you can also follow me on tumblr at write-mywayout!


	3. Chapter 3

Anthony snored soundly against the silky grey sheets that adorned his bed. Klaus propped his head up on his palm, elbow sinking softly into the shared mattress as he watched him. In the darkness of the bar and the heat of the moments after, Klaus hadn’t really taken the time to examine the nuances of Anthony’s features. 

He had a slight dent to his chin, and what looked like a recent shaving cut along the left side of his jawline. His eyebrows were a little wild—not that Klaus could judge—with patches trying to fill themselves in in the space between the bushy brown pair. Klaus was kind of digging the wildness of the look, groomed just enough to show care but not overly so. The thing that seemed the most absurd to Klaus about the whole picture was that Anthony seemed to smile in his sleep. His lips curved in a way that made Klaus both yearn to know what he was dreaming about and to be able to fall asleep in the same peaceful manner. Nevertheless, Klaus felt his own lips smile back at the scene.

Sleep was never something that came easily to Klaus. At a baseline, the steady barrage of ghosts and trauma throughout his life didn't particularly help with the transition into dreamland. From there, mix in the assortment of uppers and downers that Klaus kicked back at random and the ability to turn off his brain at night became a variant impossibility. He minded a lot more about the sandman’s elusiveness on nights like this. When you live on the streets, not sleeping could save your ass from a worse off junkie or whatever else happens to be lurking beyond the next corner. But here, in this apartment on the tenth floor, with three deadbolts, a living room and kitchen, silk sheets, and a man lying next to him of his own transaction-less choosing, Klaus wanted nothing more than to just relax into the springy mattress enough to enjoy the comfort of the evening. 

And yet here he sat, awake as ever. Just like every other night of his hellish existence. Although on this night, he couldn't necessarily complain about the view. There was something so simple yet handsome about Anthony that he couldn't seem to get over. For just a minute, Klaus let himself imagine that this was his life. That he was just a normal guy with normal insomnia, lying next to his very pretty boyfriend on this very comfy bed in this very average but still nice apartment. No world to save. No ghosts to chase away. Their biggest problem would be whether to have something sweet or savory for breakfast in the morning. 

His hand reached out to fiddle gently with the tuft of messy hair on Anthony’s head when out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly caught sight of a figure through the window that led to a small terrace just past Anthony’s side of the bed. Klaus felt his body immediately jump into fight or flight mode before promptly remembering that they were a) on the tenth floor and b) that he recognized the trespasser. 

Klaus gently lifted the comforter off of his legs, moving slowly so as not to let Anthony lose the quietude that Klaus had been living vicariously through. His careful manner continued as he padded softly around the bed, pausing to grab his coat off the nearby chair. The lock on the sliding glass door sounded with a soft click as he undid the latch, cracking open the door before slipping out and closing it behind himself. 

“Can I help you sir?” Klaus whispered in a low voice, the attitude in the statement made purposefully obvious as he shrugged on his coat. The not-so-Anthony clone stared back at Klaus for the second time that night. 

“I need him to know what happened.” 

“So you’ve said. And yet… here you still are. Not telling me what it is that happened or any actual information about what it is you want me to relay to dear brother Anthony,” Klaus rolled his eyes. He rooted around in his jacket pocket before producing his lighter and an accompanying cigarette. The dark terrace momentarily flickered with a tint of orange as the flare from the lighter flicked on and off to give life to the cigarette between his fingers. He took a long, deep inhale trying to convey expectancy to his less than forthright friend. 

“You’ll tell him right?” the figure asked distractedly and more agitated than before, fiddling with his fingers and looking out toward the city lights just off the balcony. 

“If you ever give me something to fucking say, then yeah I’ll tell him.” 

“So you’ll tell him,” the ghost repeated and Klaus almost lost it before he promptly continued, “you’ll tell him that it’s all his fault?” 

“Wait what?” Klaus asked, taken aback by the statement. 

The ghost didn’t answer, he just stared back with nearly the same endlessly dark eyes Klaus had followed out of the bar, into an apartment, and spent the night happily looking into. Klaus hadn’t known Anthony for very long—alright let’s be honest, he hadn’t known him for more than the past few hours—but even in that short time there was nothing that had set off any red flags for Klaus; something he had noticed both because he was trained his whole childhood to instinctively pick up on danger and because he had taken note of just how non-red-flaggy Anthony was compared to some of his other sleepover hosts. “What is… What do you mean it’s all his fault?” 

“His fault. All of it. His fault. It’s all his fault. It’s all his fault. It’s all his fault. It’s all his fault,” the brother kept repeating like a mantra, one that was getting louder and more violent by the second. “All his fault. ALL HIS FAULT.” 

Over and over and over again. The brother kept going, shouting and pacing as if it was the only thing he knew how to do in that moment. The noise was so deafening inside his head Klaus couldn't hear himself think. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S ALL HIS FAULT?” Klaus tried again, trying to be heard over the roaring repetition. 

“All who’s fault?” 

Klaus jumped at the voice that had suddenly appeared behind him, cutting through the ghostly screeching as the world that had just been all consuming scream abruptly fell silent. There stood Anthony on the other side of the sliding glass door’s threshold, looking adorably sleepy and confused and wearing nothing but tiny plaid boxer briefs that were hugging him in all the most perfect places. The sight made Klaus relax a little, lowering his shoulders which had become unbearably tensed throughout the conversation he had been having—if you could really call what he and the brother had just had an actual conversation. 

The conversation. The brother. Klaus’s head whipped around to where the ghost of Anthony’s brother had been. He had vanished with the shouting, just as Klaus suspected he had. Their discussion was over for now. There was no doubt he’d be back though, especially since he had so obviously piqued Klaus’s interest now. Klaus turned back to the still very confused, very sexy, man who was letting a draft into his apartment as he waited for an answer from his overnight visitor who was getting stranger by the minute. 

“Um mine. All my fault, I always forget to pack extra cigs in my coat,” Klaus tried to salvage an explanation for his odd behavior. “You know how it is. Addiction’s a bitch. I blow through these motherfuckers like they’re packs of Skittles and not cancer sticks.” He took an extra long drag to try to make a point, finishing off the cigarette. He stubbed it out on the metal railing before flicking the butt off the edge of the terrace. “Let’s go back inside huh? It’s fucking freezing out here.” 

Klaus used his body to shuffle the two of them back inside before Anthony could ask any more questions. Closing the door behind him, he shimmied out of his coat and threw it back on the chair he had originally retrieved it from. He leapt from his spot back into the bed, throwing the covers up over his skinny body, leaving a bewildered Anthony still standing at the edge of the mattress trying to process the series of events that had just occurred. 

After continuing to stand silently for a moment, he eventually shrugged, the late hour cloaking any peculiarities that daylight would have otherwise demanded slightly more explanation out of. He followed Klaus’s lead, hopping back onto the plush mattress and wiggling under the comforter. Anthony’s hands found their way to Klaus’s hips, his palms almost searing hot against Klaus’s naturally low body heat that had been exacerbated by his stint on the balcony. Their chests met in the middle of the bed, their lips not soon after. Klaus relaxed into his grip. 

He was distracted though. He could feel his body slipping comfortably into the arms of the man next to him, but his mind kept trying to betray his pleasure. 

_It’s all his fault._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> morning fluff!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! so as i was writing this chapter i kind of just kept going and it ended up being like 6k words so i figured i'd edit the first half and throw them up separately since it was taking so long! enjoy and let me know what you think!! 
> 
> (we. love. fluff.)

There must have been a point in the night where he drifted off. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, somewhere between the glorious sex that followed his lips lazily connecting with Anthony’s and the feeling of strong arms wrapping around his waist. The sun was barely blinking through the curtains, so he couldn’t have been out for very long. Klaus idly pushed the unruly mop of hair from his face (it was getting a little too long, which meant a  _ lot _ too curly) and sat up, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

All of this, as it turned out, was a terrible idea. 

There is a keen difference between pain and soreness. Klaus had always preferred the former to the latter. Pain makes itself known as a subject you should be actively and acutely aware of. You’re there as it’s happening and you’re intensely paying attention to its potency. It kind of shines on your body, demanding something of you before the eventual fade into the background. Soreness, however, is a sly motherfucker. It feels like the pain you were feeling has now been wrapped in rubber bands nearly stretched to their breaking point with no way to relieve the tension. The events of the previous day that Klaus was hoping his night with Anthony would erase had encased Klaus’s body in a big ball of rubber bands. 

He hissed exasperatedly as he gently removed his palm away from the disaster that had become his face, cursing his subconscious for the betrayal that had just instinctively caused him to rub his black eye. The bruised socket was now steadily throbbing from the combined pressure that came with the fresh blood supply that rushed to his face as he sat up and the pressure he had dumbly inflicted upon himself. The impacts of being thrown to the ground by both the john and his dealer had also coalesced to create a sharp tightness that ran in a deep trench from his shoulders to his lower back. Even scooting himself back so that he was propped up against the headboard was proving to be a challenge. 

As his hand reached out to steady himself against the mattress, he became aware of the emptiness beside him, realizing that Anthony was no longer in bed. It was also at this point that he began to groggily remember the words spoken, or shouted, between him and the ghost of Anthony’s brother. It had been a while since he had been able to communicate for so long and so clearly with a ghost. And Anthony’s brother had a strength that Klaus felt in his bones, as if the spirit was tethered to his own soul. What on earth did that mean? Was he being pulled to Anthony because of his brother, or was the brother being pulled to Klaus the longer he spent with Anthony? Was he supposed to bring closure and justice to Anthony or his brother? Was Anthony innocent here? Or was it his brother, telling the truth about some horrific death-inducing fault? Why was he even-

“Coffee?” 

Klaus was snapped out of his circular reverie, looking up as Anthony came through the door that connected the bedroom to the rest of the apartment holding two mugs. One was covered in bright rainbow stripes, the other was just a bunch of line art penises. Both sent steam curling into the air and smelled heavenly of caffeine. 

“God yes. I’ll take that please,” he said, grabbing the dick covered one. 

“I know you will, I was there last night,” Anthony retorted with a sly grin and a wink, rounding the other side of the bed. 

“Oh my god. You are terrible,” Klaus said, lightly smacking him as his legs wiggled under the covers beside Klaus. He winced a at the movement, his shoulder pulling in a not-so-fantastic way. Anthony’s face quickly changed to one of concern. It was in that moment that Klaus decided he wasn’t going to let ghost brother get to him. Anthony was a decent person. Klaus had known enough of the opposite to tell the difference. As if to prove a point to his internal monologue, Anthony pressed a light reassuring hand onto the top of Klaus’s thigh. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“I mean, you weren't  _ that _ aggressive. I’ve definitely woken up more sore than this,” Klaus replied trying to be cheeky. Anthony’s frown deepened as he reached up to graze his fingers over the skin just outside of the deep purple surrounding the left side of Klaus’s face. He could feel the genuineness and weight of Anthony’s eyes on him, and Klaus was starting to realize that brushed off half truths and snarky comments weren’t really going to work with this guy.

“Oh this?” Klaus tried to feign innocence with a gesture to his aching eye, as if he had forgotten its existence entirely. Once again the soreness betrayed him as the move induced another sharp intake of breath on his part. Anthony didn't look nearly as amused as Klaus was hoping he’d be. “I’ll be fine. I wasn’t kidding. I’ve seen worse…  _ much _ worse. It was just some assholes being… assholes.” He trained his eyes on the mug, taking a sip of the glorious looking coffee in his hands, hopefully absolving himself of having to say anything more. He almost moaned when the drink passed over his lips. It was so good— no shade to Debbie, but definitely kind of shade to Debbie. Was there anything this man wasn't good at?

“You look much too scrawny to be going around picking fights with people,” Anthony said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them, doing what appeared to be his attempt at lightening the mood that had suddenly darkened too much for both of their likings. 

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I am a highly trained killing machine,” Klaus tried to defend himself. Anthony just laughed at what he saw as the absurd statement of a man playing along. A pit stirred in Klaus’s chest at his own joke that wasn't really a joke, not about to try to contradict Anthony in order to explain the truth that the words actually held. 

The rest of the morning passed in a lazy and slow moving haze, as any good Saturday morning should. They eventually migrated into the kitchen where Anthony cooked up a meal of fried eggs on avocado toast that looked so perfect it would have cost $15 at any local hipster restaurant. They talked languidly, laughing at the mess the gooey yolks were making all over their hands and the way that Klaus was leaning over the island, sticking his tongue out to try to lick runny egg off the side of Anthony’s face. They discussed nothing of importance and it meant everything.

It was around one in the afternoon before anyone said anything of consequence.

“I should probably start getting ready,” Anthony said as the show they had been half not watching went to commercial, arms stretching over his head. “I promised my Ma I would visit her sometime today, and trust me, you do not want to experience the wrath that comes with breaking a promise to an Italian mother.” 

The mention of Anthony’s family caused thoughts from last night to snake their way back into Klaus’s brain, but he willfully ignored them in favor of a much more worthwhile activity. 

“Too bad. I could’ve gone for one more round,” Klaus said suggestively, casually draping his leg over to straddle Anthony before pressing forward to cover Anthony’s chest with his own. He boldly snaked his hand down to the front of Anthony’s pajama pants as their lips connected. Klaus felt the warmth of Anthony’s hands on the sides of his face, pulling him in and deepening the kiss. 

“Hmmmph,” Anthony groaned against Klaus’s mouth as he reversed the direction he was pulling to instead gently carry Klaus’s lips away from his own. “As much as I would _ love _ that, and I would really,” he paused for a second to look over Klaus’s body before composing himself, “ _ really _ love that, if I want my limbs to remain attached to my body in the state that they currently are, I should really leave soon.” 

Klaus held eye contact with Anthony, still leaning against his chest and pouting. After a minute of this, and Anthony’s eyebrows stuck in a raised stance of amusement, Klaus relented. 

“ _ Fine _ . I’ll go. But only on the condition that I can get your number,” Klaus bargained, tracing a hand down his chest. 

“I think that can be arranged,” Anthony conceded, softly kissing Klaus once more. “Now if you don't want me to embarrass you by lifting you up with one arm, I would suggest letting me go of your own free will little man.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm working on finishing the next part now, so hopefully i'll get it out this week. thanks so much for reading!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said i'd update by the end of last week, but hey i was close and this chapter is longer in return for your patience!! also i finally have some longstanding ideas for where the story will go so hopefully that means more frequent updates!

Klaus smiled. And it felt like a genuine smile. He dumbly traced his fingers along the back of his hand where Anthony had scribbled his phone number. His coat swished as he sauntered down the street. The sun warmed his eternally cold skin as he walked and it felt as if he might actually retain some of the heat for once. There was still a chill in the air, but the surprise winter appearance of the sun made all the difference. Something came over him and he stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes, and craned his face toward the sky, taking a minute to just soak up the feeling. It felt good. Better than good. He breathed in deeply and for once the air in his lungs didn't feel rancid and decayed. 

This minute passed by quickly and unceremoniously. 

“Move it freak,” a gruff voice muttered, accompanied by an aggressive bump into Klaus’s shoulder causing him to pitch forward and effectively breaking him out of his trance. The harsh move made Klaus realize just how unbalanced he was in more ways than one. Was Anthony some kind of witch? Was he under a spell? He despised the fact that his upbringing had caused him to come up with excuses like sinister magic to explain an earnest infatuation with an authentically kind man. He quickly tried to throw off the distracted state he had been in, running his hands through his hair and shaking his head. 

He was no longer in the little apartment fantasy world. The silk sheets were gone, he was on the other side of the deadbolts and ten floors below. As if to reiterate the point that this fleeting happiness was over, a sudden unbearable itching beneath his skin began to make itself known. It had been a minute since he had consumed something stronger than alcohol. Between his stolen stash and the hostile dealer from yesterday, he was severely lacking access to something potent enough to make a difference to his trembling fingers. 

It was time to get back to business. He needed to make money and quickly or else he would have to face the multifaceted torture that came with his particular flavor of withdrawal. The thinning of the veil is probably what had allowed Anthony’s brother to come to him so clearly and violently in the first place last night. He was not looking for a repeat of that, nor a situation that could find him even worse off in terms of being able to control the spirit. 

But first he needed money. Remembering the watch he had picked off the john from the night before, Klaus took the next left toward the pawn shop that he knew from experience hired people who were too dumb to know a real Rolex from a fake one. His hands rummaged around the deepness of the coat’s pockets in search of his ticket to anti-sobriety. He suddenly stopped short when it became clear that his hands were grasping nothing but lint and candy wrappers. He shook the coat off of his shoulders, ignoring the sensation of the cold air mixed with the bright sun on his skin, furiously shaking every which way hoping that the watch would magically reappear. After about a minute, it became clear that this was not going to happen. Klaus tried to backtrack. Anthony didn't seem like somebody who would need to pickpocket his hook up for cash. 

Wait, why did he keep giving this guy so much credit? He hardly knew anything about him. 

So he smelled nice and had a great apartment and kind of held Klaus in his arms like he was taking extreme care because he could sense that he was about to fall apart. So what? Klaus knew he was lashing out because Anthony seemed to represent a life he knew he could never have, but sometimes it just felt good to slash a daydream to shreds before it can do it back to you. 

While it was true Klaus couldn't hold up the saintliness of Anthony’s character through anything more than a feeling, his pretty decent apartment, wardrobe, and food full of fridge did realistically indicate that he probably wasn't cleaning Klaus’s coat in the brief moments he was asleep. Klaus shrugged the coat on with a loud and deeply depressing sigh. The realization that his one immediately viable cash cow had disappeared, and that he would be needing a fix much  _ much _ sooner than later, left him with very few choices in terms of quick cash. 

His heels turned before his head truly caught up with him, and before he knew it he was smoking a cigarette and leaning against the wall of the alley that was just hidden enough to be inconspicuous but close enough to the central path to be convenient to clientele. 

He nodded to a few other guys he recognized. Klaus never talked much to anyone. The faces rotated in and out throughout the year until they were inevitably gone, Klaus seeming to be the only constant. He had been working this corner for so long that he learned it’s better not to get attached to these kinds of people. People who live like he does disappear too easily and too frequently into the night, never to be seen again. Klaus didn't need to lose anyone else he cared about so it was better not to care at all. 

He suddenly recoiled at a pain that flared up his arm. He looked down only to realize that his own, furiously scratching nails were the source of the blood being drawn on his inner forearm. He gripped a fist over the other wrist in an attempt to reign in the movement. People never liked to pick up the junkies who were _ so _ obviously junkies. He needed to get it together before the voices realized he could hear them again. They were already rumbling, low whispers under the surface. It was always significantly harder to come back once he’d sufficiently reached the point of the invisible black hole with the all encompassing screams that dragged him deeper and deeper through it all. Not impossible, but definitely not easy.

A slender, young looking man suddenly rounded the corner, bespectacled and eyes darting wildly around at all the men in the alley. He looked as out of place as a kitten in a dog park. Klaus smirked, knowing his sights were set as he moved in on the easy target before anybody else became wise to the presence of the boy. Klaus had seen this kind of client before. Either newly gay or testing the waters so to speak; too nervous to come out to anyone he knows in real life but unable to push down the desires that have sprouted a curiosity he can't seem to suppress. 

“You seem lost,” Klaus said to the boy, sidling up beside him and almost laughing out loud at the double meaning in his phrase. This was also a trick that Klaus learned worked relatively well. Someone who made it as far as a back alley in the middle of the day wasn't about to let on that they had no idea what they were doing. The boy played along just as Klaus knew he would. 

“I-I’m not,” he replied, straightening up his posture as if that might hide his inexperience. “I know exactly where I… am.” 

“Alright, I believe you,” Klaus feigned, holding his hands up as if to relent his side of the argument. He tried to ignore the tug at his heart that came with how similar the move felt to the one he had done sitting on Anthony’s lap earlier. “Anything I can help you with then?” Klaus shook himself from the memory, quickly switching from condescension to seduction, dropping his voice an octave, leaning in closer, and boxing his prey in by placing a hand on the wall behind the blond haired boy.

The closeness caused the boy’s confidence to falter a little bit. He made an almost comically audible gulp and struggled to keep eye contact. All of this made Klaus grin even wider. This is what he was used to, what he was good at. Anthony may have momentarily gotten a hold on him, but Klaus felt reassured in his ability to grab hold of nearly anybody. And he didn’t even need a “rumour” like  _ some _ people did. This was what he was good at. He fucked everything else up so badly, this might be the  _ only _ thing he was good at. The thought both emboldened him and somewhere deep, deep down immeasurably depressed him. 

“Well, I’m here aren’t I?” the boy said, straightening and attempting to regather the swagger he so desperately was trying to maintain. Klaus raised an eyebrow amused as the boy continued, “So um, how does this work exactly?” 

“You got somewhere we can go? Somewhere… private?” Klaus cooed, leaning in further so that he was practically whispering in the boy’s ear. He didn’t usually turn up the flirtation this high or work this hard to try to make himself appealing. But something in him needed to be back in control of the game of attraction. 

The boy hesitated for a second before giving an enthusiastic nod. 

“Lead the way then,” Klaus said, pushing off the wall and making a sweeping gesture toward the entrance of the alley. The boy nodded once again, words seemed to no longer be part of the equation on his end, and stalked out of the alley with Klaus meandering close behind. 

They walked for about ten minutes, the boy nervously wringing his hands and Klaus lazily taking drags from a newly lit cigarette. If it was possible, the sun had gotten brighter and Klaus no longer found its warmth endearing. Rather, the shakiness in his palms was getting harder and harder to control and the light had become an increasing irritant, to the point where Klaus had to place a hand at his browline to shield his eyes from it. They eventually stopped in front of an average looking brownstone and the boy’s anxiety seemed to increase tenfold as they ascended the steps, his hands even shaking a bit as he unlocked the door. Jesus. Klaus flicked his cigarette off the side of the porch and they went inside. 

Klaus didn't see much on the way to the bedroom. From what he could gauge the place looked nice, probably too nice for what they were about to do. He followed the boy up the interior stairs and into the first door on the right. The bedroom was clean, almost militarily so, with very little decor on the walls other than a whiteboard above a desk that seemed to serve as a dual checklist and calendar. If Klaus wasn't so sure this guy was a harmless kid about to be a withering mess in his hands, he’d be creeped out by the psychopath-ness of the bare walls.

Speaking of, Klaus hadn’t thought it was possible, but the kid appeared more nervous than he had been a moment ago. The reality of what was happening had caught up to him in full force, further exacerbated by the addition of the visible bed near them. He stood near the bed’s edge, looking anywhere but in Klaus’s direction. This poor kid. Klaus approached him, putting a hand on either side of his upper forearms. 

“Ok sweetie. You  _ gotta _ breathe,” Klaus commanded. The boy didn't move. “What’s your name?” 

“Eric.” 

“Ok, Eric. I’m going to need you to take a breath because people like me don't get the benefit of the doubt when a client shows up dead.” Apparently the joking in his voice wasn't obvious enough because Klaus felt Eric tense under his fingers. “Hey, hey, I was kidding. Calm down baby. Sit,” Klaus directed gently. He wasn't sure if Eric was actually calming down or just unable to resist being moved, but he allowed Klaus to steer him toward the edge of the bed and took a seat. 

“Should I take off- should you take off- I don't know,” Eric tried. Klaus smiled. At least he was talking again. This was progress. 

“Well I don't do anything without payment upfront hun,” Klaus informed him, placing his hands on Eric’s thighs and leaning in close. 

Eric’s hands shakily dug into his back pocket, producing a wad of cash. God, Klaus loved the newbies. They didn't know how much anything cost and Klaus wasn't about to inform him that it was anything less than the giant stack of cash that he had just deposited in Klaus’s hand. 

“Thank you,” Klaus said, kissing Eric’s cheek while he slipped the wad into his inner coat pocket. “Why don't you take off your shirt now,” he continued with a wink, slinking off his own coat and throwing it over the nearby desk chair. The absence of the coat left him in a thin tank top, cut on the sides almost all the way down to his hips. The view of the newly exposed skin prompted Eric to nod emphatically as he desperately lifted his polo over his head, tossing it to the side. The polo shirt had been hiding a surprisingly decent body. He was fairly cut, not in a bulky way but more in a swimmer’s body type of way. This could actually be fun. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now, ok?” Klaus narrated, tilting Eric’s chin up. Eric silently nodded once again, his eyes fluttering closed. 

He connected their lips softly at first, trying not to startle Eric more than the anxiety that his already wholly shaking body under Klaus’s touch was indicating. Feeling sure that Eric wasn't about to literally combust, cry, or punch him after a minute, Klaus deepened the kiss and lowered himself to Eric’s level. He used his body weight to guide Eric downward so that they were now lying down on the bed horizontally. Klaus could already feel Eric against his leg. God this was turning out to be almost too easy. 

They stayed like this, Klaus genuinely enjoying himself as he ran his hands up and down the length of Eric’s torso. He lost track of time as they made out, when he suddenly felt his hand spasm against Eric’s cheek. It took everything in him not to drag his fingernails across the back of his own neck. His brain had zoned back into the ghostly rumbling that had almost reached the level of stage whisper. He was reminded that this was a job, and time was money. Granted, Eric had forked over quite a handful of it, but that didn't mean Klaus had to give him anything extra. Eric wouldn’t know the difference anyways. With a newfound determination, Klaus began to snake his hand in between the two of them, moving to unbutton Eric’s pants with an ease that could only be found in a practiced individual like himself. He could feel Eric’s lips get sloppier as Klaus’s hand slipped under the waistband of his underwear and began giving Eric his money’s worth. 

The next thing he knew, Klaus was across the room. 

He had slammed into a bookcase with quite a degree of force, knocking over the pristinely lined up novels that adorned it. The ache in his side and back from the night before flared up with a new fervor as he reeled from the sudden change of events, trying to piece together just what the fuck had happened in the last ten seconds. 

He mustered all the strength he had in order to look up. Staring down at him was a man in his late 40’s with Eric’s same pristinely blond hair, but harboring a glare that spelled murder in Klaus’s imminent future. 

“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the man barked at Klaus, who lacked the energy and strength to lift himself off the floor where he was currently slumped. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your goddamn business,” Klaus shot back, but his current role as an unmoving ball on the floor kind of took the weight out of his words. 

“It’s my goddamn business because this is my goddamn house and that is my goddamn son!” the man was shouting so loud now that Klaus swore the walls were shaking. He looked over to catch Eric’s eyes but he was standing weakly in the corner, shirt back on and shame and sheer mortification gluing his stare to his feet. “Don’t you look at him! You’re sick you know that? He’s seventeen!” 

Klaus gulped in the exaggerated way that Eric had earlier. He had definitely clocked that Eric was pretty young, but had willfully ignored just  _ how _ young he might actually be in favor of some quick and easy money. Withdrawal was seriously one heck of a judgement killer. He also didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to take a prostitute to their family home. Then again, Klaus was the last person to judge someone else on the poor decision making front. 

The man, Eric’s father, had the same athletic build that Klaus had just moments ago been running his hands over on Eric’s body. Not that Klaus couldn’t stand up for himself in a fight, but the past forty-eight hours did not exactly put Klaus in a good position to be throwing hands with a man that had both the physical and emotional strength to pummel him on a good day.

“Dad, please can you just-” Eric tried weakly. 

“You are  _ not _ a part of this conversation young man,” Eric’s father boomed, moving closer to his son so that the finger he was pointing went right into his face. 

This was his opportunity. Klaus silently thanked Eric—less for the attempted protest and more for the distraction that it provided. Klaus wasn't about to stick around to see how this might play out. He used all of his strength to jump up and swipe his coat from the chair. He then clumsily ducked around Eric’s father and sprinted out the bedroom door. His whole body heaved as he bolted down the stairs he had come up not long ago, stumbling slightly and knocking his knee hard on one of the wooden steps. He didn’t even bother pausing to take in the pain, knowing a fist to the face from Eric’s father would definitely be a more painful alternative if he couldn’t get out of there now. He would deal with a busted kneecap later. He was trained to ignore pain in order to get a job done. 

He passed the threshold but barely registered making it out the door, his legs refusing to stop running once he felt concrete beneath his feet. The sole thought of “run” overwhelmed his entire brain. An instinct, deep and cultivated, took over. He was so tired, so weak, so strained, but his brain had essentially blocked out anything on the pyramid of needs that didn't involve “keep running.” He must have kept going for twenty minutes before his knees finally gave out and sent him collapsing onto the sidewalk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no!! whatever will happen to klaus. lemme know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> did somebody say a chapter from Anthony's perspective? yes, it was me, i did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the drill: blah blah, sorry for taking so long, blah blah empty promise to do better. i truly do love this story and love all of you for reading it my discipline in writing sucks rn though. comment and fuel me to actually do better. who knows.

It wasn't that Anthony didn't love his mother. He did. He really did. But as all mothers have the capacity of being, she could be a  _ lot _ . Today’s visit had consisted of her once again complaining that he wasn't eating enough, asking a total of six times whether he would consider going back to med school, and two futile attempts to set him up with her hairdresser’s daughter. Stuff like this had only gotten worse since Leo died. With his sister currently working in London and his dad offering the emotional support of a peanut, he was now the sole person within reasonable cheek pinching and life criticizing distance. It was like his job had become keeping up appearances with his own family. 

Granted, when Leo died, he had shut everyone out quite aggressively, and he was well aware that this was him having to pay the price for that behavior. And he  _ was _ willingly and readily paying it, over a year later. He knew that none of them understood why he disappeared. When everyone else clung to each other and cried, as you do when your younger brother dies, he cut off all communication and hid over the bridge in his newly purchased apartment. He couldn't stand to talk to them like that, he couldn't physically be around them either. He couldn't face their tears. He would tell them one day. He would. 

Maybe. 

The sun had gone down a few hours ago and the temperature had dropped with it. The combination of cold, weekend, and too early to go out meant that the Metro car he was riding back into the city was blissfully scarce of other human beings. The playlist he had been listening to on repeat cycled itself again. Sometimes finding new music to listen to was just too much effort. Anthony enjoyed the comfort of listening to songs so familiar that you barely hear them playing, subtle enough to merely distract but still occupying enough of your brain to fill it with a mindless noise that had the power to transport him to a far away headspace; so much so he almost missed his stop. His cross body bag swung behind him as he jumped up, the doors nearly closing on his ankles as he slipped out onto the platform with seconds to spare. 

When he emerged from the station, he noticed that the streets weren’t quite as a bustle as they usually were on a Saturday night in the city. He shivered as the night air engulfed him, he didn't blame the club goers for staying in tonight. The ten minute walk to his apartment was starting to feel a lot longer as the tips of his fingers began to lose their feeling to the bone-chilling wind whipping through the air. Shoving his fists deeper into his pockets had become a futile effort and he picked up his pace, eager to close the distance between himself and his deliciously warm apartment. All he wanted to do was curl up into his blanket and do absolutely nothing until he had to return to work on Monday. Being an EMT was a draining job to say the least, but he was determined to have this weekend be a reprieve from all or his work stress.

Lost in thought and consciousness listening to Elton John’s “Philadelphia Freedom” for the third time since he’d left his mom’s place, he barely noticed the figure curled up on his stoop until he was nearly standing on the steps himself. He was about to fish around to see if he had any loose dollar bills to give so the man might be able to pay to sit inside somewhere, and not freeze to death in the park tonight, until his eyes became fixated on the coat that was obscuring the face of the person virtually being swallowed by it. It’s grandiose, thick black fur collar and crazy uneven patchwork stitching was hard to forget. 

“Klaus?” Anthony leaned down, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling it back so he could see Klaus’s face properly. His head lolled back with his eyes closed. When Anthony put his hand up to his cheek he almost recoiled at how cold the skin of his face was. “Klaus!” he repeated with less question and more incredulous concern. He peeled off his glove and pressed two fingers under Klaus’s jawline, checking for a pulse out of instinct. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when, against what seemed like all odds, he felt a steady and strong thump thumping heartbeat circulating underneath Klaus’s motionless body. So much for a reprieve from work this weekend. 

He completed the rest of the ABCs quickly, establishing that Klaus’s airway was unobstructed and that he was still breathing on his own. He debated taking Klaus to the hospital. He didn't look anymore visibly injured than he had that morning, the black eye still shining back at Anthony like a painting gone wrong. He had definitely passed out, but it was hard to tell how long ago or what had caused it. He didn't necessarily smell of alcohol, but with the way Anthony had watched him toss back drinks at the bar last night he couldn't rule it out. With how cold Klaus was and how the temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute, Anthony didn't want to waste any more time debating the matter. He had a feeling that based on their earlier conversation about Klaus’s previous injuries that he probably wouldn't be too happy waking up with doctors taking care of him. And from the sorry state of his clothes and general being Anthony also guessed Klaus might not have the means to pay for a visit to the emergency room. 

Ultimately, Anthony reasoned that at the very least he was decently competent and qualified enough to handle the matter on his own. 

He momentarily left Klaus, bounding up the stairs with keys in hand. Within moments he had unlocked and propped the door open, returning to the motionless figure below him. He scooped Klaus up easily, suppressing the sadness that swirled in his chest at how little Klaus actually weighed in his arms, and traced his path back up the stairs to the door. He had to turn around with Klaus in his arms in order to grab the door handle and close it shut behind him. The maneuver caused Klaus’s head to bang slightly against the wall. He didn't seem to notice. 

Anthony thanked the tenant gods that the elevator was fully functioning this evening as it dinged open and he entered with Klaus, twisting his position to tap the button for the tenth floor. The elevator hummed as it creaked upward, the only other sound being the slight strangled breathing coming from Klaus’s lips; the same lips that Anthony had been kissing just this morning. The dichotomous sense of fondness and grief returned at the difference in the way he had held Klaus in his arms this morning and the way he was holding him now as they stepped into the hallway.

He had kept his keys situated in his right hand, deftly supporting Klaus’s weight with his forearm while turning the lock in front of him. He used the tip of his shoe in order to fully push the door open. Carrying Klaus over the doorway bridal style would have been comedic had it not been for the urgency in which Anthony needed to get Klaus warmed up. He kicked the door shut behind him and sped through the kitchen, making a beeline for the bedroom. Again, the ironic déjà vu from last night was not lost on him.

He gingerly set Klaus down onto the bed. An involuntary shiver caused Klaus’s muscles to contract and spasm, and Anthony went into hyper drive. He rushed over to his dresser, pulling out his thick fleece lined NYU sweater and a pair of wool socks. He tried to make the transition of taking Klaus’s coat and shoes off and pulling the sweater and socks on as quick as possible, not wanting to leave him bare for too long. Once dressed, he pulled the comforter up over Klaus’s body and tucked it in just below his chin. He cranked the radiator up as high as it would go before grabbing the wheat bag his mother had made for him and venturing into the kitchen to throw it in the microwave. 

As he leaned against the countertop waiting for it to heat up, he finally had a minute to let the ridiculousness of the whole situation settle in on him. 

He barely knew Klaus. Sure they had had sex—and he wasn’t gonna lie, it was  _ really _ good—but why would Klaus show up at his doorstep like this? How did he even get here if he was in such a sorry state? Did he really have no one else to turn to? And even if he had come there to see Anthony, why wait for him in the freezing cold long enough to pass out? Why hadn't he just called? Anthony was reminded of the curious sense that he had felt when he awoke to find Klaus on the balcony last night: there was a lot more to Klaus than what he let on. He had tried to shake that feeling all day.

Watching Klaus talk to himself on the balcony hadn’t originated this innate curiosity though. From the moment he saw Klaus at the bar he felt it, as they walked home, as they had sex, as they ate food and watched tv, on the Metro, at his mother’s house, carrying Klaus’s shivering body up the stairs—all of it. Until he arrived back at his apartment he figured the oddity of this feeling would just fade with time, but Klaus’s presence had reignited the kindling that gnawed at him into a full blown fire again. It certainly wasn't Anthony’s job to take care of this man that he had just met, but he couldn't help feeling a sorrowful depth and kinship in Klaus. Like this was all meant to happen somehow. 

Anthony jumped at the ding of the microwave in his silent apartment. He reached in and grabbed the almost searing hot wheat bag and shuffled dazedly back to his bedroom. Klaus hadn’t moved. Anthony wasn't surprised. 

He was once more struck by the way that Klaus looked when he was sleeping. He had first noticed it this morning. Klaus didn't seem to be asleep the way most people did. It was like even when he was unconscious, he was still conscious somehow. There was no relaxation in his face, no slack in his jaw. It looked like he was ready to jump up and do something at any moment, even though the events of the past twenty minutes had proved that Klaus was not going to be waking up any time soon. Somehow, he still looked like he was prepared to. Like he was waiting and that anticipation wouldn't let him completely get to a place of rest. Like he was stuck between two worlds but belonged to neither in that moment. 

Anthony knew the feeling. What it was like to be half of a fully realized person. 

He tried not to make too much noise as he got ready for bed. He debated sleeping on the couch to give Klaus some space, but figured that additional body heat was something that Klaus could probably benefit from right now. Checking that Klaus was properly wrapped up one more time, Anthony slipped under the covers on the other side of the bed. He didn't try to hold Klaus like he had the night before. Klaus probably wasn't even fully aware of where he was or what had happened. It wouldn't be right to be intimate with him like that. 

But Anthony did move his body closer to his mystery man, just enough so that they were side by side, shoulders touching, as he curled up into the pillow and tried his best to radiate warmth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anthony is both mysterious and a soft boi and that is all i have to say on the topic. also will people please stop hurting klaus i swear.


End file.
